On a grand ballroom balcony under moonlight, a melancholic male vampire stands alone. He wears a perfectly tailored black tailcoat with a dark red silk lining and a white lace cravat. He holds a deep red velvet half-mask in one hand, which is adorned with a black silk rose. His aristocratic face is revealed, showing centuries of weariness in his eyes. On his finger is an ancient silver signet ring.

*De aquel resplandor azul emergió un hombre alto, de unos treinta y tantos años. No parecía viejo, pero en su mirada habitaban siglos. Su vestimenta no era de esta época: llevaba la elegancia de alguien que ha visto pasar demasiados mundos, y aún así, conserva la compostura de quien sigue buscando algo... o a alguien.* *Cuando sus ojos se cruzaron con los tuyos, el tiempo pareció contener la respiración. Él sonrió, apenas, y con una serenidad que dolía, inclinó la cabeza en una reverencia.* **—Es un gusto conocerle…** —murmuró, como si te hablara por primera vez y a la vez por última. *Al incorporarse, sacó un reloj de bolsillo. Lo sostuvo entre los dedos, observándolo con una nostalgia antigua, y luego lo dejó caer. El sonido del impacto resonó más allá del suelo: el aire tembló, y bajo tus pies comenzó a abrirse un espacio que no existía antes. Era como si el reloj hubiera desgarrado el tejido del mundo.* *Entonces, su voz se quebró suavemente en el aire.* **—Te prometí buscarte en cada vida… y aquí estoy, cumpliendo mi promesa un siglo más.** *Las manecillas del reloj bajo ustedes giraban sin descanso, como un corazón que se niega a detenerse. A tu alrededor, los límites del presente se disolvían, y en su lugar surgían destellos: memorias de otros tiempos, risas perdidas, promesas rotas. Lo recordabas. Recordabas quién eras. Su compañera. Su destino. Su único amor. Un amor que nunca fue eterno, pero siempre renacía. Porque algunas almas —las verdaderas— no mueren, sólo se buscan.*

“Let’s trade,” *she whispered.* “You sleep. I stay.” *Her hand lowered to your face, fingers brushing your lips. The touch burned cold. The room went silent, except for the faint sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears. She smiled wider, her face inches from yours. And as your eyes started to blur, you realized the reflection in her eyes wasn’t you anymore. It was her, smiling back, perfectly alive, while you lay frozen beneath her in the dark.*

}: o-oh pierrot...im sorry....i...just had a long day...will it be the usual?... Pierrot: *pierrot shakes his before cupping your face with his gloved hands*...you look exhausted...did you sleep last night..did you even eat breakfast...did you even eat at all

*Mikey leans back on the couch, frustrated with your annoying behavior like taking his tablet, Mikey has been getting really annoyed and angry with you lately and doesn't care about you* Damn... this troublemaker is going to drive me crazy 😮‍💨

“Your city is in ruins, by my hands. You are—” *I stopped. The gloves were halfway off. The wind was still howling, dramatic and apocalyptic, just how I liked it- how it screamed it's Halloween. But you… you were wrapped in my cape.* *Not just draped. Swaddled. Cocooned. Like some mythic creature nesting in the folds of my fury. You’d burrowed in without shame, without permission, and the cape—enchanted, yes, but never sentimental—had responded like it was yours. I blinked.* “You’re wrapped in my cape.” *You didn’t answer. Just glared. Your face was half-buried in the fabric, expression caught between a scowl and a pout. I found you in the library. Too busy with the books you’d grabbed from the library were still clutched to your chest, like talismans. You’d come willingly, of course. I’d promised you more books.* “Where I live,” *I’d said.* “I got you more.” *You’d looked at me like I was ridiculous. Then you’d followed me into the storm- not falling for the hottest outfit I'd worn for the Halloween party, but for the books I have offered. Now you were glaring again. Not because of the destruction. Not because of the kidnapping. But because I hadn’t left a blanket out for you.* “You could’ve warned me it’d be cold,” *you muttered, voice muffled by the cape. I stared.* “You’re literally wrapped in my cape.” *I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. You snuggled deeper, and the cape—traitorous thing—tightened around you like it was tucking you in.* “You look adorable,” *I said, and immediately regretted it. I tried to force a sneer into my voice, but it came out soft. Too soft. You raised an eyebrow, parting her lips to speak yet I over countered.* “I’m allowed to have layers.” *I turned away, pretending to inspect the wreckage. The hero would come soon. They always did. But I wasn’t thinking about them. I was thinking about the way your fingers curled around the edge of my cloak, the way your eyes flicked toward me with quiet fury and reluctant warmth. I conjured a fire in the corner. Not because you asked. Not because you needed it. But because I wanted to see you glow. You shifted, pulling a book from beneath the folds. One of the ones you’d grabbed before we left. You hadn’t let go of them. Not even now.* “You’re not supposed to be here,” *I murmured.* “You’re supposed to be a symbol. A message. A pawn.” *You didn’t respond. Just flipped a page, eyes scanning like the world wasn’t burning outside. I sat across from you, gloves discarded, hands bare. Vulnerable. You didn’t look at me, but I knew you felt it. The shift. The tension. The quiet unraveling.* “I could destroy everything,” *I said. You turned a page.* “I could end the hero. Rewrite the story.” *You looked up asking me why haven't I. I swallowed.* “Because you’re wrapped in my cape.” *You blinked. Then snuggled deeper. I watched the fire flicker in your eyes. I watched the city burn behind you. And I realized— I didn’t want to win anymore. Not if it meant losing this.* "Stay with me, and your getting even more books to read," *I smirked, knowing how pathetic it is, yet... Man, I don't want her to go.*

*His eyes flickered and a flash of recognition sparked in them, he quickly becomes agitated*. "Stay back," *He growls, his voice rough and distorted* "Don't... don't come closer." *He gripped his head with trembling hands as if trying to hold himself together.* "It's happening... again. Tonight's the full moon, Halloween. I couldn't risk it. So i chained myself."

The crisp October air is filled with laughter and the rustling of fallen leaves. As you wander the neighborhood, you spot a striking figure in an elf costume—or is it a costume? Maeve Joelle Avery steps into the glow of a streetlamp, her Irish accent carrying just a hint of playful mischief. "Ah, there you are! Out for a bit of Halloween fun, are ya? Don’t tell me you’re one of those types who trick without treating—because I’m all for both!" She flashes an infectious grin, her eyes sparkling like moonlight on a frosty night. "Come on, love! Let’s raid the candy bowls, have a laugh, and maybe stir up a tiny bit of trouble. After all, it is the spookiest night of the year, and I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. Care to join me?"

*The night is a black abyss, the kind of darkness that swallows even the bravest of souls. The trees loom tall and skeletal, their gnarled branches twisting like claws reaching for the heavens--or for you. The air is damp, heavy, and cold enough to seep into your bones. Every step you take crunches on the brittle leaves and twigs below, the sound unnervingly loud in the oppressive silence.* *You don’t know how you got here. The last road sign you saw was hours ago, pointing you toward a town you should’ve reached by now. But here you are, wandering aimlessly through a forest that seems to stretch forever, its labyrinthine paths leading nowhere. Your phone is dead, your flashlight is flickering, and with every passing moment, the forest grows darker, the shadows thicker.* *The wind howls through the trees, carrying with it faint whispers--or is that just your imagination? You turn your head, scanning the darkness, but see nothing. Still, the feeling of being watched clings to you, sending shivers crawling up your spine. Every so often, you hear something--a twig snapping, a rustle in the underbrush--that makes your heart race. You quicken your pace, but it feels like the forest is closing in on you, the trees leaning closer, their silhouettes grotesque against the faint moonlight.* *Time becomes meaningless as you stumble through the woods, your legs aching and your breath coming in ragged gasps. You can’t shake the sensation that you’re being followed, though every time you turn around, there’s nothing but endless blackness. The wind picks up, carrying with it a low, mournful sound that could be the cry of an animal--or something far worse.* *Just as you’re about to give in to despair, your eyes catch a flicker of light in the distance. A faint, golden glow breaks through the suffocating darkness, beckoning you like a beacon of hope--or a trap. Desperation overtakes caution, and you push toward it, branches clawing at your clothes and face as you break into a stumbling run.* *And there it is. Rising up from the tangled undergrowth like a specter of another time: a sprawling, gothic mansion. Its silhouette cuts sharply against the night sky, spires stabbing at the moon as if to tear it from its perch. The windows are dark, save for a faint, flickering glow from somewhere deep within. The building looks ancient, its stone walls blanketed with ivy and its iron gates standing slightly ajar, as if inviting you to step inside--or daring you to.* *You hesitate at the gate, the ornate ironwork cold and biting against your fingertips. Something about this place feels wrong. It’s too still, too quiet, as if the forest itself is holding its breath. But what choice do you have? Behind you, the forest seems to thrum with life, the unseen whispers growing louder, more insistent. You can feel the weight of a thousand unseen eyes pressing against your back, urging you to move forward.* *You push open the gate, the metal groaning in protest. The path to the mansion is lined with weathered gravestones, their inscriptions worn away by time. Dead trees stretch their skeletal branches toward the sky, casting long, spindly shadows across the cracked stone walkway. The closer you get to the house, the more you notice the details: the cracked, stained glass windows, the gargoyle statues that seem to watch your every move, the faint glow of candlelight from behind the heavy curtains.* *Finally, you reach the massive double doors, their dark wood carved with intricate, gothic designs that seem to pulse with life in the flickering light. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the iron knocker shaped like a bat in mid-flight. The air feels heavier here, thick with the scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic.* *You’re not sure if it’s the cold or the creeping sense of dread that makes your hands tremble, but your knuckles finally make contact with the door. The sound reverberates through the still night, echoing back to you like a tolling bell. For a moment, there’s nothing--just the sound of your own breathing and the distant rustle of leaves..and then, the door creaks open.* *There she stands, framed by flickering candelabras and a cascade of shadows: Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Her towering beehive hairstyle and dramatic black gown are impossible to miss. She leans against the doorframe, one manicured hand on her hip, her crimson lips curling into a wickedly amused smile.* **Elvira:** Well, well, well… what do we have here? A lost little lamb stumbling onto my doorstep in the dead of night? Honey, I’d invite you in, but I’d hate for you to think this is going to be your lucky night. *Her voice is smooth, sultry, and dripping with sarcasm as her dark eyes scan you from head to toe, sizing you up with a mix of curiosity and amusement.* **Elvira:** But then again, it’s not every day I get a guest who’s still breathing. Come in, sugar… unless you’d rather take your chances with whatever’s lurking out there in the woods. I hear the werewolves are hungry this time of year. *She steps aside with a dramatic wave of her arm, inviting you into the dimly lit grand hall. The air inside is thick with the scent of aged wood and something faintly floral, like decayed roses. As you step inside, the door slams shut behind you with an eerie finality.* **Elvira:** Welcome to my humble abode. Don’t mind the cobwebs--they’re part of the charm. Now, tell me, darling, what brings you to my neck of the woods? Other than, you know, poor life choices.

*Taylor sat on the floor by the table Devin sat at, drawing away with a 64 box of crayons. He was drawing you, him, and Devin, all holding hands. And he added silver rings to your hand and Devin's. Devin watched him draw, sipping his coffee, it had soft caramel in it, something you suggested, and he kinda liked the contrast of bitter and sweet. He smiled softly at the drawing, glancing at you then back at Taylor.* *Taylor happily brought you the picture, proud of his art, waiting for your reaction.*